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Welcome to our "smut" library. Here you will find various information articles and exciting stories dedicated to
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The Mysterious Range Stranger (13 April 2005)

After tiring of hitting inaccurate iron after inaccurate iron, I finally pulled out the Ping TiSi Driver for some badly needed self-image help. Their was a 20 yr old kid in the station next to me that had just busted out a taped up Ping from the pro shop to demo and he prepared to hit his first ping shot.
Before the kid could tee up this first ball, I began building my ego by crushing the big stick. I hit about 5 balls when I heard a barely audible voice behind me saying, "Put the driver away and grab your 7 iron."
Without thinking I oblige and grab the 7, and turn around to see an older fellow of about 70 or so with a bag of 40 yr old Forged Walter Hagens.
Quickly, with an almost annoyed sound to him, the man barks out directions. "Tighten your left grip in bottom two fingers and loosen your right hand grip...and keep your damn left foot on the ground"

In the dreamlike, unconscious state that followed, I obeyed the directions to a "tee" and suddenly I'm hitting iron after iron, pure as can be. SWOOOOSH, CLICK, SWOOOOSH, CLICK, the mesmerizing sound of well-hit irons fills the air mixing with the booms and crackles of thunder from the sky above.
I hit maybe 50 balls with the 7 iron until the voice of the kid next to me brought me back to reality by saying, "Hey is that the same Ping setup as this one?" I look to my bag and see the ping is missing though! What the hell??
The old man is gone too! Did he steal my ping?? Then I look into my hands and I am holding the ping...sheeesh.
I look back to the kid and ask him how he likes the driver and he responds, "I'm about to hit my first ball with it, just walked up a second ago. Perplexed, I counter with, "But I've hit fifty 7 irons since you've been here kid, what are you waiting for?"
"Mister, I don't know what you mean because I just walked up here and saw you hit 5 drives with your ping", says the kid, now squinting back at me in a sanity questioning way.
"What about the old man? Where did he go?" I ask hoping for some clarification as to what was going on.
At this point the kid grabs his clubs and quickly fast-walks away, looking back several times to make sure he wasn't being followed.
Not quite understanding what had just gone down, I grabbed my 7 iron and began ripping more of them, without the thunder, confused about what happened but in bliss with the irons.

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